Tuesday, August 18, 2009

"The Monk" by Kostis Palamas


by Kostis Palamas

You allowed your skete to be on the dry cliff
and lived there
below the depths of heaven,
a monk with prayer.
On the rock you leaned. The years passed.
God shines within you.
With your sacred work you deepened even the cliff,
and it became a temple.

37 Years of Monastic Labor

Pilgrim: Father, how many years have you been in the monastery?

The Elder: 37 years my son and I still have done NOTHING!

And what do we have to say for ourselves?

(by the blessed Elder Damascene, Skete of the Resurrection in Limassol)
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